


I was standing (you were there)

by MorganBartonRomanoff



Series: Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Found Family, Gen, He deserves a break, Implied Phil Coulson/Melinda May - Freeform, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020, Natasha Romanov is So Done, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Iron Man 2, Quinjet, Shopping, Strike Team Delta, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganBartonRomanoff/pseuds/MorganBartonRomanoff
Summary: Austria is a magical place, according to Coulson. Natasha disagrees. Clint refuses to pick a side.(Or, Coulson sends his Strike Team after a diamond smuggler and Natasha isn’t the arm candy this time.)Part One of my Natasha Romanov Bingo; Squares filled - Shopping (Ch.1) & Quinjet (Ch.2)
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Melinda May & Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653973
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51
Collections: Natasha Bingo





	1. Vienna, Austria

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Natasha Romanov Bingo 2020 by [natasharomanovbingo](https://natasharomanovbingo.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title from Bishop Briggs' "Never Tear Us Apart".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission is on the verge of being compromised. Luckily, they're all professionals. 
> 
> Part One of my Natasha Romanov Bingo; Square filled - Shopping

Austria in January was not kind. It was finger-numbingly cold, chilling-to-the-bone fog and grey clouds rolling over every rooftop in sight.

Austrian shopping centres in January were loud, packed and in no way warmer despite the crowd. Those were the shortcomings of an open-plan shopping area designed as a village, not to mention the sheer size of it and the ridiculous number of stores spread throughout the buildings.

Natasha silenced the snarky voice inside of her head, she was Russian, after all, the weather didn’t bother her that much, and focused back on the couple several feet ahead of her, flanked by two ‘inconspicuous’ looking bodyguards. She wondered what the conspicuous ones were like. She quirked her lips to the side as the woman took a sharp turn and dragged the man into yet another overpriced designer store. Natasha could practically hear his pained groan, even if he didn’t actually express it out loud. Years of partnership had contributed them with the advantage of knowing each other better than anyone else did to the point of unsubstantiated telepathy.

It wasn’t a particularly complicated mission. They only had to gather evidence, and then Coulson would deal with the rest while they were shipped off to the next destination. The mark was a South African diamond smuggler and SHIELD wouldn’t have gotten involved if diamonds weren’t the only thing being smuggled. There were children too. The topic hit straight home with the two of them and they hadn’t hesitated to ask for the details on the spot.

One of them had to be at the front line while the other one ran backup, watching from a distance.

Natasha had groaned then, it had been as clear as day who would play which part. After all, that was what she had been groomed for, and the Hawk saw better from a distance.

Except, Coulson had smirked and handed them each a file. The mark’s name was Annika Petersen and she’d taken over her father’s business after his death eight months ago, presumably an accident, most likely murder. And she was very much straight, which meant Natasha had no chance of success there.

She’d laughed openly and loudly at her partner’s face, crumpled in dread and disappointment.

The mark would be residing in Vienna for the upcoming three weeks, which meant Clint had less than that to woo her and gather enough evidence against her. And knowing him, Natasha had been horrified at the prospect of watching _that_ boat crash, burn and sink.

It wasn’t that he was particularly bad at seducing, it was a job requirement, after all, but it was harder for him than it was for her. She’d been raised to be ruthless and efficient, manipulate until she reached her goal and never reveal her hand. He’d been raised to survive, to be stubborn, useful, he hadn’t needed that particular skill when he could have just taken what he needed the easy way. Still, from what Natasha had seen on their nights out after a mission and in some dire situations, he had it in him, that cunning approach, flirty, light-hearted, casual. With his troublemaker grin and leather-clad arms, and rugged good looks, he tended to draw a lot of lustful eyes. It had bothered her until she had realized _why_ it had bothered her, and then things had gotten complicated.

Fortunately, they’d gotten their shit straight on time. That had been exactly why she could make fun of him about the situation at hand freely.

They’d arrived in Vienna separately with a day difference. Natasha was first, settling in just down the hallway from the mark and the three other rooms for her bodyguards. She’d gone with a not-so-thick Russian accent and a fake name, Katya Sergeevna, and a dark long wig cascading down the heavy fur coat wrapped around her, swinging around the black card Coulson had handed over with a stern lecture on their expenses from two months ago. (That had been on him, he shouldn’t have made them pose as a disgustingly-in-love couple. The diamond ring Clint had bought had been necessary to keep up the cover, nothing else. It hadn’t been their fault that the store wouldn’t take it back. Now, it decorated her jewellery box, awaiting the next occasion to be used.)

Clint had arrived at the same hotel in a leather jacket and skinny jeans, Ray Bans perched on top of his head and charm turned up to one thousand. His room was exactly above Natasha’s.

She’d watched him chat the mark up at the lobby bar, leaning on the wooden surface, smiling charismatically. She’d enjoyed the show, it had reminded her of one of those heavily induced with second-hand embarrassment comedies. They’d stayed there for hours, laughing loudly, getting closer and closer until they were practically glued to each other, all the while Natasha threw them looks every once in a while over the top of her laptop, nursing a glass of vodka that didn’t seem to be enough for her to endure the spectacle.

In the end, Clint had left, mumbling an apology about jet lag, and Natasha waited for the woman to make her way up to the floor they shared before retreating herself. When she’d entered her room, there had been a single arrowhead knocking against her window from the wind, hanging from a string and piercing a piece of paper.

‘ _I’ll tell her to take it slow,’_ it had read.

Over the next few days, she’d followed them around the city as Clint took the woman on dates, got her to open up, talk. He’d kept his promise, there was nothing more serious than the occasional kiss. The piece in her ear and the microphone in his coat had helped her keep track of everything said between them and she’d often found herself chuckling at him. There was just something about watching her best friend act in such ways that got to her. It was one thing when she was there alongside him to play, and something else entirely when she was a spectator.

Ten days later, the mark suggested visiting the Parndorf outlet centre, and that was how they’d ended up there.

Clint had taken the woman’s SUV, accompanied by the two goons, who, in Natasha’s opinion, were absolutely terrible at their jobs. She, on the other hand, had hired a car, possibly giving Coulson another grey hair as she swiped the credit card.

There had been only one thing she hadn’t predicted: her lack of company. As she looked around, she took note of all the families, couples and friend groups and the distinct lack of loners such as herself. She cursed herself as she took her phone out, a plan already forming in her head.

Coulson picked up on the third ring.

“Yes?” he answered with a matching accent to the one she had used so far. He sounded mildly annoyed, possibly looking at her bank account, she thought.

“Hi, papa! How’s America,” she asked in overly cheerful Russian, looking around at the shops as an excuse to locate her partner.

“Are you in trouble?” He seemed more focused now, concern sneaking up in his voice.

“Of course not,” she laughed. “I just wanted to hear your voice, am I not allowed that? I miss you.”

“Sure, Katyushka,” he played along. “Do you want me to switch to the mother tongue or is English okay too? My colleagues get cranky when they can’t understand me.”

She smiled, eyes finally landing on Clint’s shape. Coulson would protect her cover until she gave the all clear.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just doing some light shopping,” she warned him. “And I saw all these families and they reminded me of mom. Don’t you miss her, papushka?”

“Every day,” he droned, and she narrowed her eyes, entering the store Clint and his conquest had just disappeared into. Was he doing paperwork while she was freezing her ass off? (Russian blood or not, not even the fur coat could protect her fingers and legs from going numb.)

The store smelled heavily of vanilla. Natasha moved around aimlessly, keeping an eye on the couple as they looked at shirts and business coats.

“Sooo… What are you doing?” she prompted after several seconds of silence on the other end of the call.

“Saving your ass, apparently.”

“Hilarious. I could hang up, papa,” she pouted.

“Please do, I have work to get back to.”

“Papa,” she drawled. “You hurt my feelings.”

“Forgive me, darling,” he snorted. “How much longer do you need me, so I can inform my associates?”

“Hm, I don’t know, I’m getting bored. I might go make some friends soon.”

“Katya,” he started sternly. “Nyet. You keep your distance.”

“Da, da,” she sighed. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

She laughed in an attempt to spice up the conversation for anyone who might have been listening.

“Do you want me to get you a souvenir?”

“From the shopping centre? I’m good, thanks.”

She went back outside, immediately missing the warmth of the air conditioner.

“Come on, when was the last time you let me treat you?”

“When was the last time you offered?”

“Papa,”she scoffed. “You’re not funny.” Natasha heard him let out a long sigh and she could practically see him rubbing his brow.

“I have to go, Katyushka, May is waiting for me. Be good.”

“Always am.”

He hung up without another word and she was left to glare at her phone. Ten minutes were barely enough for the front she’d wanted to put up, but she would have to make do without her handler.

She waited for Clint and the mark to come out of the store with two bags and followed right after them. It became a tedious cycle, the same thing over and over and over again for the following three hours, but Natasha hadn’t expected anything else. She weaved around and sometimes avoided them, entered other stores just to come out empty handed and agitated at the suffocating crowd. She wasn’t worried about losing the target, she had ears on her partner and a tracker in his pants as well as one equipped with an additional mic in his coat’s pocket for him to use in case of an emergency. Both devices were recording and sending their data directly to Coulson in HQ.

She was getting restless, more than three hours of her time had been wasted on fruitless surveillance. Clint could have suffered through this on his own while she ran errands in the city. She was debating going up to the couple she was trailing anyway, she could have had some fun, at least, when she caught a glimpse of a big, burly man walking in their direction. From what she could see, he was far from happy and she could see the bulge of at least one gun underneath his jacket.

The mark told Clint to go get them something to eat while she dealt with her friend, and he put up just enough fight to make it believable before he kissed her, putting his palm on the back of her neck to stick on the microphone and slinking away. He caught Natasha’s eye as he lined up at a waffle truck. She followed suit, going as close to him as she dared while listening to the evidence Annika was currently providing for them. Not so fruitless after all, then.

“Can we go home now,” she asked lowly.

“Bored already?” Natasha clenched her fists, glowering at him. “Now you know how I feel every time.”

“You like observing from a distance, though.”

“No, not really.” He turned around for a second, flashing her a smile. “I hate that you have to be alone in the middle of the action but my consolation is the arrow I have trained on every guy you smile at.”

She snorted, shaking her head and finding the mark with her eyes once more.

“I admit, I did think about poisoning her a few times. Just a few.”

"She's not that bad, you know."

"She's a criminal."

"That's a fair point, but I actually meant her personality."

"Criminal."

He placed his order and sighed dramatically.

"I know, I just mean she doesn't act like a complete asshole."

"Yes, that is why she's even more dangerous. People like her--" She cut herself off, paying more attention to the conversation in her ear. There, they had her right there. Natasha smirked and finished her sentence. "People like her are more difficult to lock up, but, luckily, we're good at what we do. We have it.”

“Wait, really? That’s just it? We disappear?”

“Do you want to say goodbye?” she asked exasperatedly. “Get your shit together. We’re done here. We don’t need to stay any longer so let’s just leave this cursed place.”

Clint smirked at her.

“You really hated seeing me with her, didn’t you?” He took the two waffle cones and handed one to her.

“Not more than with an other target. You know what,” she decided, taking a bite of the warm desert. “I do want to stay. I was so busy with you and your girlfriend I didn’t manage to get anything for myself. It ought to be fun.”

Sure, Coulson had forbidden her from getting involved, but that had been so long ago. Besides, she had indeed promised (or threatened, if she had to be more accurate) to do some light shopping, and there was no better shopping than the one after a mission well done.

“Lead the way,” she smirked as she allowed her accent to slip back into her words. His pained long-suffering expression filling her with gloating glee.

Their timing was perfect as Annika’s dearest ‘friend’ had just stalked off with one of the goons by his side, shamefully escorted, Natasha noted. She plastered a concerned expression on her face as they neared the blonde. She was pretty, but not particularly remarkable, with a lean body from what she’d seen those previous days and a high and sweet voice. Her face was more angular than round with straight short hair loose around it.

“Hey, babe,” Clint grinned as he handed her the other waffle cone. “This is Katya. She’s kinda lost.”

“I’m not lost,” Natasha corrected him. “Just confused.” She offered her hand to the mark, a pleasant smile resting on her face. “Nice to meet you. I’m really sorry to bother you.”

Annika’s face lit up as she took her hand and Natasha had to give it to her, the woman was a scary sociopath for being able to act like that while operating as a crime boss.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Annika. Please, don't worry, we're happy to help you out! Chris is just so thoughtful."

The spy fought back a gag at the woman's moony eyes.

"Yes, you are a very lucky woman. I wish I could find a man like that. Unfortunately, all my exes are morons who only care about papa's money."

The mark snorted, sympathy glinting in her eyes.

"Tell me about it. If I had a dollar every time a man was after me because of money I would probably be twice as rich." She shifted, snuggling deeper into her coat. "So what are you looking for?"

"Oh, yes! Papa's birthday is in a week and I wanted to get him a new shirt. He keeps losing them on his trips to America and I don't know why he won't just introduce me to his mistress."

Clint yelped out a surprised laugh.

"Mistress?"

"I know my father. And I keep hearing the name 'Mel' every time I'm on the phone with him. I'm not stupid."

The mark blinked at her a few times and then snickered.

"You're surprisingly okay with that prospect."

"Why wouldn't I be? Mama passed away a long time ago and it was about time he started seeing someone. It's just such a pity that he doesn't even admit it."

The man cleared his throat in an attempt to withhold his laughter and suggested that they start from the store just a few feet to their right.

Natasha took full advantage of SHIELD’s funds, enjoying her role as a rich heiress completely. Coulson would probably yell, but… well, she was in the game now, and she couldn’t not play by the rules.

An hour later, though, she’d had enough cheerfulness to last her a lifetime and was desperate for a break from the woman they were deceiving. She wouldn’t admit it even with a knife to her throat but she’d developed a new sense of respect for her partner for enduring so long with Annika. And the most interesting part was that she’d almost forgotten she was in the presence of a criminal. Almost.

Natasha had almost come up with a clear plan on how to delicately get out of there when her phone rang out. She plastered a wide grin on her face, picking up immediately and switching to Russian.

“Papa! Miss me already?”

“Dearly,” he answered, matching her language. She fought off a frown. “Why don’t you come visit me in America, my love?”

“Oh, how wonderful!” she squealed. “I just have to get my things and I’ll be on the first flight to you!”

“Perfect. Do hurry up, I can’t wait a second longer to see your face.”

“Bye, Papa, love you! See you soon!”

She turned towards her company as she hang up, beaming with faux excitement.

“Oh, I am so sorry to leave you like this,” she exclaimed in English again, accent more prominent this time. “Papa insists that I visit him in the States and I can bet you,” she winked conspiratorially, “he wants me to meet his Mel! Ah, it’s like destiny is on my side today! First meeting you two wonderful people and now papa!”

Annika chuckled, a condescending smile gracing her face. Natasha patted herself on the shoulder mentally.

“It was all our pleasure, dear,” the blonde answered. Natasha chose this moment to drop one of the bags, cursing lightly in Russian. She’d used these exact same word on Clint enough times before for him to figure out the message. He rushed to help her, a gentle smile pointed in the mark’s direction.

“Babe, why don’t you go check the Jimmy Choo store out? I’ll help Katya to her car and be right back with you.”

The woman pouted and drew him in for a long showy kiss, marking her territory. How bad for her that he was not.

“Don’t take too long,” Annika said after she finally released him and smiled at Natasha. “Bye, Katya, it was great meeting you!”

“You too. You’re very lucky with a gentleman like him.” The mark laughed, throwing her head back.

“Yes, I might be, if he behaves. Have a safe flight!”

Then she was off, and both assassins could finally take a relieved breath of air. Natasha handed him half of her load and lead him to her car.

“They’re onto us,” she informed him as she opened the trunk. “I don’t think she knows yet, but her people have definitely snuffed out one or both of us. We need to move, now.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Clint sighed. “It was nice while it lasted, though.”

“It was not,” the redhead snapped as she opened the driver’s door. Clint grinned at her as he nestled on the other side.

“Wow, she really got under your skin, didn’t she?”

“She was exhausting. And a complete psychopath. I can’t wait to be as far away from her as possible.”

"We won't have much time to get our things," he warned her.

"Coulson would have known to call a clean up crew. He'll probably send a quinjet too."

"Damn, we got an extraction plan this time."

"Yeah, don't get used to it. He won't feel so generous when he sees the receipts but I might be able to soften the blow with some presents."

They were going well above the speed limit, and Clint almost regretted letting his partner drive. Still, he understood the necessity. Time was not on their side.

"Wait," he realised. "You really know Coulson's shirt size?"

"Yeah,"she frowned, looking over to him. "I know yours too. Don't you?"

"No, Tasha, because there's a difference. Me, you've slept with."

"I don't see your point, you don't know _my_ size of anything except probably my bra."

"Hey--" he started, but then cut himself short. "No, that's fair."

"See. I guess I have a good eye for this sort of things. I got May a nice scarf too, she'll know I've talked about her."

Clint hummed in agreement. Their handler's occasional partner was a very scary woman and she terrified him almost as much as Natasha did. 

They drove on in relative silence, the occasional quip accompanying the radio when they had something to say to each other. Despite not having spoken in almost a week, they didn't feel a need to speak to feel each other's presence. When they were entering the outer neighbourhoods of Vienna, Clint suddenly jerked in his partner's direction.

"Wait!" he almost screamed and Natasha gripped the wheel harder as to not punch him, wondering if he had a desire for an early death. "Are Coulson and May really...?"

She sighed, shaking her head at him. He could be such an idiot.

"Oh, Clint."


	2. Western Europe, 45 000 ft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one thing the Quinjet reminds Natasha of.
> 
> Part Two of my Natasha Romanov Bingo; Square filled - Quinjet

Natasha had been right. There was in fact a quinjet waiting for them at the airport. They were required to go through airport security, trying to avoid as many cameras as possible, while simultaneously carrying their shopping bags, and use their covers of two filthy-rich spoiled heirs on their way… wherever. They weren’t asked and they did’t tell. Besides, everyone who saw Natasha’s fur coat and Clint’s Rolex immediately acquired a scowl and stared after them with contempt.

The quinjet had been masked to look like an average private jet. SHIELD had a few of those in their hangars for cases just like this one, to use for safe extractions mostly. It wasn’t their usual type of ride but they didn’t usually _get_ a ride.

They boarded as fast as possible, quietly, drawing as little attention to themselves as possible. The two agents assigned to the quinjet took one look at them for affirmation and then the aircraft was taken off the ground.

The Strike Team didn't bother with safety belts as they took the opportunity of distraction to switch to more comfortable clothing, trading their aliases’ outfits for their own standard SHIELD-issued uniforms. The air in the quinjet was pleasantly warm, sharply contrasting with the temperature outside. In the matter of minutes, they surfaced above the clouds, and the late afternoon rays of sunlight pierced the glass to find their way to the back of the jet.

Clint and Natasha shared a look, a smile, a thought, as if a link was running through their brains. They stood above the two pilots, confidence and authority radiating off both of them.

"We'll take it from here," the redhead informed them, no place for argument. A moment later, she was settled in one of her favourite places in the entire world. Behind the controls. In the air. Soaring over millions of people, far from anyone else, with her partner, and the clouds, and the sun, and the moon, and the stars for company. They flew in relative silence, disrupted only by the sound of the engine and the conversation of the two agents behind them. Clint managed a few more minutes before leaning his head closer to Natasha and asking what she knew he would.

"So... Coulson and May?" The distress in his voice drew a smirk from the woman.

"You really didn't pick it up?"

"Pick what up? They're Coulson and May. They don't--"

"They don't what? Have feelings? Need human company like everyone else does?"

"I was gonna say that they don't strike me as the type to break protocol. Jeez, Tasha. I mean, Coulson is turning a blind eye on us but who's gonna turn a blind eye on them? Their handler is _Fury himself_."

"There's a difference. May and Coulson are more mature than you."

"Me?!" He sounded scandalised and she fought back the reflex to look at him and enjoy the face he was making at her. He spluttered for a few seconds before settling on, "Well, just so you know, you're just as immature as me, _Katya_."

"Sure," she hummed, fully aware that he had a point, at least to an extent. She had acted immaturely, but hers had more to do with the overwhelming need to save him from almost certain death by the goon of their mark from having his cover blown. Nothing else. _Nothing. Else._

A thought lingered and she pressed the comm link on the dashboard before requesting for Coulson and ordering Clint to behave.

"Romanoff?" She took a breath, an odd kind of relief from finally hearing her own name with her handler's voice.

"Hey. We're okay, on our way back to HQ. Mission accomplished, though I do have something I need to ask you." Natasha waited for him to confirm that he was still on the line before continuing. "Why did you pull us out in such a rush? Not that I doubt your judgment, just curious how you knew."

He snorted. He knew her too well, most likely having predicted the question.

"What, were you having a good time?"

"Not even remotely. Answer the question, please?"

"I had eyes on you the entire time, as you probably know. And on the mark's room, thanks to Clint."

Natasha snapped her head in her partner's direction, glaring at him in betrayal. He returned the look, wincing apologetically.

"You went to her room?"

"It was an impulsive decision."

"You could have been made, Clint."

"I wasn't."

"He wasn't," Coulson agreed. "At least not then. Her security is paranoid, though. She pays them to be. They ran a background check on him and, despite our tech team's capabilities, they found a thread they could grasp. It took them a while, but they found contacts. They figured out you weren't who you were claiming to be just as I called you. I wasn't even sure you'd make it on time."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

"That woman is more ruthless than her father was. She's bettered all his fronts, secured connections he couldn't have and has buried all evidence against her last name. Do you know _how_ she's done this?"

"She's a woman," Natasha answered. "A beautiful and confident one, at that."

"She wasn't that beautiful," her partner mumbled. She snickered.

"Nice try."

"What was that?" Coulson asked. While he hadn't said anything to them, they didn't make it a habit to be too obvious around him.

"Nothing," they shot back in unison.

"Okay then. I expect you in my office first thing after you get here for a debrief. No messing around."

"Never even crossed our minds." Barton ended the call and shifted in his seat to look at his partner from a better angle. "Tell meeee," he whined. "Tell me about Coulson and May. Pretty please."

Natasha side-eyed him and he got the message, straying his eyes in the other agents' direction, nodding once when he saw they had busied themselves with a game of cards near the back, putting as much distance between themselves and the Strike Team.

"She has a soft spot for him. She's adamant with everyone else, yet only one look from his baby blues and she's willing to compromise. And, come on, when have you seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at her. Their chemistry is like an explosive reactor and no one is safe from the radiation."

"Huh. I hadn't thought about it."

"Yeah, because they have the willpower and self-control to resist it. We didn't."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, but aren't you glad about that?"

"Eh," she teased him. "Sometimes."

They fell into silence once more, a victorious cackle reminding them of the presence of other people inside that small space.

The clouds ahead of them started turning a pale pink, a diluted purple, a pastel orange, slowly growing more and more saturated.

That's it, Natasha thought. That's what she loved most in the world. The feeling of freedom whenever she piloted. The hidden colours of the world that only came out at certain times, in certain places, as if they were the doing of faeries. Natasha didn't believe in faeries, though. There were too many real monsters as it was, the fictional ones weren't necessary to add to that count.

The soft rumble of the engine was a constant in her bones, and she even didn't mind the pressure in her ears that much anymore.

She loved the expanse of land and sea far beneath her, and the feeling she got on her way home. Home. She'd only recently acquired that. It had taken her a while, but she'd stumbled across it.

Home was... Home was an old apartment in Brooklyn with a stray black cat that kept returning, like it thought it actually lived there. Home was Clint's crappy Bed Stuy building with all his neighbours and his poor dog that was miraculously still alive after so many mugs of coffee and entire pies of pizza. Home was a handler who asked her how she was after each and every mission, who regarded her as a real person and not just an asset. Home was the handler's ex-partner who occasionally lent them a hand on missions and shared a cup of tea with Natasha every once in a while. Home was a wannabe vigilante in the body of a young woman who'd taken a way too strong liking to Clint's acrobat-archer past and managed to land herself in trouble ten ways to Sunday when she wasn’t cutting in their quiet night to hang out with his dog. Home was... knowing she had nothing to run from and nothing to fear, not anymore.

Because now she had a home. A real one. And she wasn't planning on giving it up anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [ohwriteiforgot](https://ohwriteiforgot.tumblr.com)


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